


Not A Stomach Bug

by NotManTheLessButNatureMore



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Gen, No spoilers for Lethal White because it really has nothing to do with the plot, You Have Been Warned, sorry - Freeform, there is vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 04:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17933033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotManTheLessButNatureMore/pseuds/NotManTheLessButNatureMore
Summary: There’s a little part in Lethal White where Strike stops taking his painkillers because they’re irritating his stomach. Somehow I ended up writing this. Sorry Strike.





	Not A Stomach Bug

“Have you got any Rennies?” Strike shouted to her from his desk.

 

“No.” Robin replied distractedly. She was scouring the website of the Treasury to try and figure out if her latest client, a hapless and dull man in denial about his thinning hair, had any sort of legal standing on a blackmail case over tax evasion. The case had so far been boringly straight forward and as the clock crawled towards lunch Robin bemoaned the fact that Strike’s case was infinitely more interesting than hers.

 

“Do you want me to grab lunch?” She called out to him. Robin had brought last night’s leftovers for lunch but knew Strike would probably want something from the cafe down the road. She’d noticed him limping the past few days after having to chase a hooded stalker through St James’s Park. He’d inevitably lost him as he fled into the crowds of Trafalgar Square and had been in a foul mood since. 

 

“No.” Was his clipped response. Robin stood and put the kettle on before walking down the corridor and into his office. He had his elbow on the desk with his face hidden behind his hand.

 

“Want a cuppa?” She asked cheerily.

 

When he looked up Robin’s face fell. He looked grey and there were deep lines of pain around his eyes and mouth.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“It’s nothing.” She could hear the wince in his voice.

 

“Pull the other one. Is it your leg?”

 

“No, just a stomach bug.” He said, his mouth slightly upturned as if to give an illusion of a reassuring smile. He started to rub a hand up and down between his stomach and chest.

 

“Oh, well why don’t you go lie down?”

 

He blew out a long breath and then eased back in his chair. Robin came to sit on the side of the desk and peered down at his laptop.

 

“No, I need to read through this stuff Wardle sent me.”

 

“I could do it.” Robin said, a little too quickly.

 

“Nice try.” He said with a quirked eyebrow. Robin just rolled her eyes at him.

 

He dipped his head down then and took a deep breath in through his nose and his hand moved to his stomach.

 

“Have you got anything upstairs you could take?” She asked and when he looked up at her and shook his head she got off the desk.

 

“I can grab something in Boots?”

 

“Do you mind?” Strike asked, he wasn’t sure he’d make it the few minutes to Tottenham Court Road with his leg throbbing and the pain in his stomach. Robin just smiled and went to get her jacket and bag and then returned to him with a glass of water.

 

“Do you want me to pick up lunch in case you feel like it later?” She asked but only received a groan in response.

 

————

 

Upon hearing Robin leave Strike bent over, shut his eyes and let out a long breath. He stayed like this for a few minutes, resting his forehead on the cool desk.

 

“Fuck.” He said to the quiet room.

 

The past few days had left him feeling wrung out. His leg had been throbbing ever since he decided it was a good idea to try and chase a crazed stalker through St. James Park and the ibuprofen had stopped the sharp pain in his stump but there was still a dull throbbing. He’d had a burning pain in his stomach on and off all day yesterday and had been forced to skip the painkillers this morning when he woke feeling nauseous. His stomach had gotten worse as the morning progressed and he was beginning to wonder if it was more than a simple stomach bug or an irritation from the painkillers. Sharp pains kept shooting through his stomach and there was a burning sensation crawling up towards his chest.

 

He let out a long groan now that Robin was out of the office and he didn’t feel the need to keep up an appearance of good health. He could feel a cold sweat break out and as a wave of nausea intensified he swivelled in his chair and came to lean over the bin beside his desk. Saliva rushed into his mouth and he had a moment to think ‘no, no, no’ before a flood of fire rushed up from his stomach and he vomited into the bin.

 

He shut his eyes against the pain and then coughed and spat into the bin. He stayed bent over it, not finding the energy yet to get rid of it. He heard the door downstairs slam shut and knew he only had seconds before Robin would be standing in front of him. He straightened in the chair and then caught sight of what was inside the bin. It was like tar and ground coffee beans and a memory from a long ago army first aid course came back to him. Fuck.

 

“Hiya.” Robin’s voice rang out.

 

He moved to straighten and then bit back a whimper as cramps rolled through his stomach.

 

“I forgot to ask you what your symptoms were but the woman in Boots said this was an all rounder.” Robin said as she came in with a green box of medication in her hand. When she made eye contact with him she stopped mid stride.

 

“Are you okay?” She asked, her face pale and Strike wondered how bad he looked. He wondered what would be the least alarming way to tell her she needed to drive him to A&E.

 

“Is the Land Rover parked outside?” He asked, hearing how strained his voice felt.

 

“Yes.”

 

“I need you to drive me to the hospital.” He said and saw her face fall as her eyes looked him up and down and then she disappeared.

 

He clutched his stomach with his hand as another wave of pain stole his breath. He blinked and Robin was beside him. She had his coat and her handbag thrown over one arm and she put her free hand under his elbow as he started to rise.

 

“Oh god.” He heard her say and looked to see she had spotted the contents of the bin.

 

He rose stiffly and ended up leaning heavily on Robin all the way to the car. Miraculously they had made it down the stairs in one piece, Robin’s arm a steady presence when a wave of dizziness hit him halfway down. He collapsed into the passenger seat and Robin threw his coat over his legs and then started the engine and pulled out into the traffic, thankful that the Land Rover’s ignition hadn’t chosen that moment to put up a fight.

 

Robin had grabbed the empty bin beside her desk and left it between Strike’s knees, which he now had a death grip on as she quickly turned onto Tottenham Court Road. He leaned over and paused with his mouth open waiting for the inevitable but hoping it wouldn’t come. He couldn’t vomit blood in front of Robin, other than the fact she’d probably hit a curb or another car he knew the terror he’d feel if their roles were reversed. It never came and instead he just spat into the bin. He bit his lip to keep from groaning aloud.

 

“Here, drink this.” She said as she passed him a bottle of water and then pulled it back.

 

“Or don’t. Should you drink water if you’ve vomited blood? Maybe we should have done a first aid course. We’re probably violating a health and safety regulation as employers.” Robin babbled as she picked up speed.

 

The drive was passed in muffled grunts, concerned glances and Robin becoming more and more infected with road rage, which would have amused Strike if he didn’t feel like his stomach was trying to consume itself. His entire stomach felt taut, the muscles aching, and he gripped his good knee until his knuckles turned white. He had his eyes closed tight but he felt Robin’s hand cover his and then in what seemed like a second later he heard a door slam and then his own door opening. He felt Robin’s hand pulling his arm and she was saying something but it was like there was a filter between them and his brain wasn’t registering it. He realised that the dizziness had returned and everything felt dim when he opened his eyes. Before he could warn Robin his vision narrowed to a tunnel and then he felt his hip, shoulder and head connect with something hard.

 

—————-

 

“Cormoran?” Robin had worriedly repeated as Strike started to sway in place. Before she could push him back into the passenger seat he fell from her grasp and hit the floor. Robin had half fallen with him and as she got onto her knees and began shaking him an orderly appeared from nowhere and pulled her aside. Time seemed to speed up as another man appeared, followed by a nurse and then Robin was walking behind a trolley carrying Strike as the original porter smiled and said something about parking.

 

Cormoran disappeared past the waiting area and Robin followed him to where a small group of nurses and a doctor were grabbing various tubes and cables. He seemed to be awake now as a nurse was leaning down close to his face and looked to be trying to convince him to stay on his back as a doctor stepped forward.

 

Robin suddenly felt removed from the situation. People milled about and conversations were happening and she could see Strike fidgeting in reaction to the pain but as she stepped back she felt like an intruder. A smiling nurse, shorter than Robin and with a Pakistani accent, appeared in front of her blocking her view of Strike.

 

“Hello, I’m one of the nurses who’ll be looking after Mr Strike today. Can you tell me how he has been today? What are his symptoms please?”

 

“Um...” Robin’s voice trailed off as she watched a nurse shove a grey cardboard bowl under Strike’s chin as he wretched.

 

“He said he had a stomach bug. He vomited blood,” Robin looked at her watch, “maybe twenty minutes ago. He was dizzy on the way here and then he passed out when I was helping him out of the car. And he kept rubbing his stomach and chest.” Robin heard her voice begin to shake as the seriousness of the situation loomed large over her.

 

“Does he have any allergies? Is he taking any medication?” The nurse said as she began writing on a chart. Robin looked past her again and saw that Strike’s face was twisted in pain and a nurse was putting an IV into his left hand while a doctor listened to his bare stomach with a stethoscope.

 

“No allergies that I know of and he takes painkillers for his leg when he needs them. He lost the bottom part of it in an IED explosion.”

 

“What kind of painkillers?” The nurse enquired.

 

“Ibuprofen, I think. Maybe something stronger sometimes.” Robin heard a loud grunt from Strike.

 

“And has he been taking his painkillers over the last few days.”

 

“Well his leg has been sore the last few days, I’ve noticed him limping, but I’m not sure.” Robin’s mind scanned through the last week as she tried to remember how often she saw Strike take a pill.

 

“Thank you dear. It’s a bit crowded back here but someone will come and find you in the waiting room when there is news.” The nurse said and with a quick squeeze of her elbow Robin realised she was being dismissed.

 

“He has a sister. Do I need to... he’s going to be alright isn’t he?” Robin asked as a cold vice of nervousness settled in her chest in anticipation of the nurse’s words.

 

“We’ll take good care of him, don’t worry.” The nurse said and then walked away. That doesn’t mean he’ll be alright, Robin thought.

 

She walked away slowly, seeing Strike reach out and take a death grip of one of the bars on the side of his trolley as the doctor pulled a phone from the opposite wall and began listing information that was silent to Robin’s ears.

 

She wandered back into the waiting area and sat between an elderly couple and a woman with a toddler balanced on her knee and another older child sitting on the floor in front of her. Robin watched as one of the porters from earlier came out and collected a woman in a wheelchair.

 

After moving the Land Rover, two trips to the vending machine and one toilet break, where Robin had dashed in and out for fear of missing an update on Strike, another nurse came out and scanned the room as he called for anyone that was here with Cameron Strike. Robin approached him, corrected him on Strike’s name and then followed him when he began walking towards an area near where Strike had originally been taken. They sat on some plastic chairs in the corridor and the nurse introduced himself as Richard and began to explain what was happening.

 

“First things first, it’s not as bad as you might have thought. I know it can be really worrying and scary when someone vomits blood but the doctor looking after Cormoran suspected he was bleeding internally from a stomach ulcer and that’s been confirmed by tests.” Robin’s face blanched when he mentioned internal bleeding.

 

“Now, he’s currently being patched up by a surgeon but it’s a relatively simple procedure that’s done by inserting a long tube with attachments down a patient’s throat. He doesn’t even need an anaesthetic, instead they’ll give him some sedatives so he’s nice and relaxed and it means his recovery time will be quicker. Depending on what the surgeon sees he’ll decide if Cormoran needs a blood transfusion but judging from his vitals and symptoms I don’t think he’ll need it.” Richard stopped to give Robin a chance to process everything.

 

“So, it’s not that bad? He’ll be okay?”

 

“Well it’s definitely not a walk in the park but out of all the reasons you can vomit blood, a slowly bleeding ulcer caught in time is probably one of the better options.” He said with a comforting smile.

 

“They took him down about 40 minutes ago so he should be done in the next ten, twenty minutes. I’ll come find you when he’s out of recovery. He’ll have to stay here at least overnight just to monitor him after the bleeding and to watch out for any re-bleeding but all going well he might be home with you this time tomorrow.” Richard stood and Robin uttered a thanks before he disappeared. She took a deep breath and then realised how tense she had been waiting with everyone else and wondering whether a nurse was going to approach her with a solemn face and guide her to a family room where someone was waiting with bad news. It then occurred to her that Richard had said ‘home with you’.

 

Robin pulled her phone out then and debated whether to call someone. Ilsa would be in court and Nick was in Scotland on a work trip and Cormoran would kill her if he woke to find a teary-eyed Lucy at the end of his bed, especially when he wasn’t in any danger. Shanker would probably just find something in A&E worth robbing. Instead she opened the office’s email account and replied to some prospective clients and delayed some meetings. She knew Wardle was waiting on Strike’s thoughts about their case but as she was about to call him she looked up and saw Strike being wheeled behind a curtain halfway down the corridor. Robin jumped up, almost collided with a man pushing some sort of scanner past her, and walked hesitantly towards where a porter reappeared from behind a curtain.

 

She peeked around the curtain and felt a jolt of warm electricity spread through her chest when Strike caught her eye and smiled tiredly. He was wearing a white hospital gown which emphasised how pale he still looked but the lines of pain around his eyes and mouth weren’t as prominent. A different nurse was untangling his IV and and Robin was relieved to see no blood transfusion hanging beside him, just one clear pouch of liquid and a smaller cloudy one. The nurse turned and looked at Robin.

 

“This one yours?” He asked.

 

“Hm? Oh, I uh...” Robin stumbled over her words and felt her cheeks flush.

 

“They’ll be taking him up to a ward when there’s a bed ready,” he turned to Strike and continued, “might be a bit of a wait though mate.”

 

“That’s alright.” Strike replied and Robin noticed that his voice was hoarse. The nurse put another pillow behind Strike who gingerly leaned forward, and then told them he’d be back soon.

 

“How are you feeling?” Robin said as she stepped closer.

 

“Better.”

 

“Are you hungry?” Robin said and Strike smiled as she began pulling Mars bars and Snickers from her handbag.

 

“Don’t think I’m allowed any Mars bars for a while. Still feel a little queasy anyway.” He replied and ran a hand down his face. He was thankful he hadn’t needed an anaesthetic because they always knocked him for a loop. Now he just felt tired and his throat a little sore.

 

“I should have known this morning when you didn’t want the extra croissant I got.”

 

“Mm.” Strike replied tiredly with a small smile on his face.

 

They spent the next few hours chatting on and off about cases and guessing the ailments of people that passed by. Occasionally Strike would grimace as the pain in his stomach spiked and Robin would hover, unsure of how to comfort him without crossing some invisible line. She stepped outside when a nurse came by to take a blood test and attach another bag of medication to Strike’s IV. She then scrolled through emails from Wardle about Strike’s case as he dozed in the bed.

 

Strike woke to hear Robin on the phone with Wardle. She was obviously getting up to speed on his case, which Strike reluctantly realised she’d have to take over, at least for a few days.

 

“Don’t look too happy about it.” He mumbled when she ended the call. Robin just smiled.

 

“They want to review my use of painkillers.” Strike said as he scratched at the blanket covering him. Robin watched his face carefully trying to judge how to respond. He often joked about his leg but he never seriously discussed it or the pain he was in unless he was drunk or had hurt himself.

 

“Why?”

 

“It’s probably what caused the stomach ulcer.”

 

“Not all the takeaways?” Robin asked with a smirk. Strike just looked at her sideways.

 

“The doctor said I’ll have to switch to creams and paracetamol or maybe antidepressants.”

 

“Antidepressants?” Robin asked with a frown.

 

“Not like that. If you take a certain dosage then it helps with nerve pain. And relaxation.”

 

“So you won’t be as grumpy in the mornings then?”

 

“You have a terrible bedside manner, you know that?” Strike mumbled around a yawn. Robin just smiled and then had an urge to reach out and take his hand.

 

“You should probably head off. I’m alright now.”

 

“I don’t mind. I can read case notes anywhere.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yep. They’ll probably kick me out when you’re brought up to a ward anyway.”

 

“Thanks.” He said quietly and with sleepy eyes.

 

Robin went back to reading through emails, glancing over at Strike from time to time as he slept. They did kick her out an hour or so later when a bed was finally free upstairs. Visiting hours were over and Robin left with a promise to collect him the next day. Around midnight she received a flurry of texts from him about his theories regarding his, now her, case. Robin read through his messages, strangely content with the idea that they were each lying in bed thinking of the other.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, apologies to Strike, haha. Thanks for reading! I appreciate it (as always).


End file.
